


The broken ones

by Vale11



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Cats, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, and cats, busker john, but we all love him anyway, cause he's an idiot, flint gotta take care of an idiotic musician, flint too, mentions of max and anne, so much love, that can't take care of himself properly, writer flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vale11/pseuds/Vale11
Summary: "Get inside, it's fucking cold"John's eyes rose from under the beanie, black curls falling on his face."I told you I don't need to...""Yes, I know what you told me, but it's too cold, and I'm not leaving you out here""What?""I'm not leaving you here, in the cold""I'm no charity case, James"And there it was, his greatest fear: John's eyes grew colder and he stiffened, moving his weight on his right leg with a grimace."I know - James growled, keeping him upright with a hand on his elbow - I'm buying you for the whole day""You're WHAT?!"fic inspired by the work of this amazing artist: http://flurgburgler.tumblr.com/





	1. The broken ones

We're not the heroes my friend  
We're the broken ones

Lord of the lost - The broken ones

James Flint’s favorite working place was pretty far from his flat, but he loved walking and hated being pressed in a packed train: so walking he did, thank you very much. The place was a small bar called The Walrus: it was close enough to Covent Garden to be just the right kind of weird, but far enough not to be crowded with tourists every single day. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, it was just that…well, to be fair he really didn’t like people. Individuals, yes. But crowds? Holy fuck no, no way.  
Anne, the redhead co-owner of The Walrus, gave him a rare smile when she saw him enter, gesturing him to a free table next to a free socket for his laptop while Max, her associate, was busy arranging cups and glasses on the counter. The morning rush was due to start in minutes, after all, and Flint was ready to immerge himself in his writing, letting it pass like the tide, when his attention was caught by someone playing Stairway to heaven right in front of the Walrus, in one of the regulatory spaces: a honest to God busker then, and a pretty good one judging by the quality of the execution. Guitar guy had a white t-shirt, half destroyed jeans, maybe a bit too long, thoroughly used sneakers and long, curly hair, jet black. His eyes were hidden by the curls that fell on his face, but Flint could see that they were intently locked on the strings.  
“He’s new, that's why he couldn't get one of the better places, closer to Covent Garden - Max said, leaving the first cup of coffee of the day on his table and propping one elbow on the back of a chair - appeared yesterday evening, asked for a sandwich and told us he would be playing here more or less everyday. Didn’t sound british as he spoke, must be from somewhere else”, she finished with a shrug.  
Flint wasn’t going to make her notice that neither her accent sounded very british, but he really didn’t care about that.  
“He seems pretty good”  
“Yep, and that’s good for business - Max smiled at James’ arched eyebrow - food and a free live show, uh? And, honestly, he’s got good looks”  
He couldn’t stop himself from turning his head towards the musician: he wasn’t very tall, but was well built and lean, and sported some tattoos on his arm that he really couldn’t make out from his table. He was good looking, sure. He nodded, noticing too late Max’ sardonic smile.  
“Don’t even think about it - he growled - I can take care of myself”  
“Of course you can”  
Max smiled again, getting back behind the counter to take care of their first clients. Guitar guy, in the meantime, was done with Stairway to heaven and Led Zeppelin in general, and was strumming a Silverchair song. Good tastes in music, too. He took a mental note of the songs guitar guy was playing even while working. Soundgarden. Alice in chains. Silverchair again. But just as he was labeling him as a grunge kind of musician he started playing Robert Johnson, followed by Alter Bridge and a very rearranged version of Gimme Danger by The Stooges. Holy fuck, the guy really knew his shit. James Flint was really hard to impress, but guitar guy had managed to do that in just a couple of hours.


	2. Rain fall down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Help him get dry - she answered with a smirk and a wink - I don’t want to lose my showman”  
> He got back, grumbling under his breath, and sat down again, outstretched hand toward guitar guy, the towel in a loose grip. Guitar guy smiled again, that fucking smile that could lit his whole face up, and started drying his hair, ending up with a turban on his head. He took a sip of his coffee and smiled again. And that was it: that guy was going to be the end of him, James just knew. And he didn’t even know his name.

Follow it up in this strange grey town   
They build it up and let it all fall down   
Feel like we're living in a battleground   
Everybody's jazzed   
Rolling Stones - Rain fall down

 

The next morning guitar guy was already there when he arrived, so he paid much more attention to him than he had the day before. He looked a little worse for wear, but had a bright smile and his eyes were of the of the clearest blue he had ever seen. Sure, pathetic. But, anyway, a deadly combination with those black curls of his. He stopped short when guitar guy started on Crazy Mary, and couldn’t help himself.  
“Pearl Jam?” He asked, and guitar guy shook his head, he didn’t even stop playing.  
“Victoria Williams, actually”  
Max was right, his accent was strange but it sounded good nonetheless. James smiled, letting five pounds fall in guitar guy’s opened guitar case, then smiled again when he heard an intake of breath and the guy’s “Thank you, man!” behind his shoulders.

The man’s repertoire was huge: where he stored all those songs God only knew. He was looking at the musician on the other side of the Walrus window when he heard a thunder rumble in the sky, and a freaking heavy rain started pouring in less then a few seconds: guitar guy was trying to gather his things as quickly as humanly possible, but James found himself outside, with his black umbrella opened, trying to save him from drowning.   
“Thank you, again - guitar guy smiled, closing the guitar case and trying to dry his face - I owe you a song”  
James nodded and helped him with his backpack, pulling him toward the Walrus with a hand on his elbow: he was drenched, it was starting to get cold and he needed to get dry but guitar guy started shaking his head, steps a bit unsteady.  
“I can’t get in there, man - he said, a hint of shame in his voice - I got no money”  
“I’ll pay for your lunch, ok? I don’t want you to die from pneumonia on me”  
James missed the look of pure awe that guitar guy directed him, hauling him inside and making him sit on the chair closest to the radiator, catching every other client’s attention. He dismissed them with a shrug: the fall was approaching quickly, and there had been a distinct drop in the temperatures. He didn’t know why, but the idea of that guy getting sick disturbed him. Maybe because he had grown to love having his music as soundtrack after a whole day of strumming in front of the bar.  
“Anne, could I have another hot coffe, please? - he asked, taking off his own jacket and urging guitar guy to do the same - with sugar. Do you like your coffee sweet? Actually, do you like coffee at all?”  
Guitar guy pointed his finger at himself, and felt so dumbfounded that all he managed was a nod, looking up at James with wide blue eyes.  
“You don’t have to do this, you know - he all but whispered, warming his hands with the cup of fresh coffee James gave him - I can manage”  
James shrugged and sat in front of him, at the opposite side of the table, in front of his laptop.  
“I like your music”  
When his answer was met with silence James’s gaze moved from the screen to guitar guy, and saw the biggest smile a human being could manage: the guy’s mouth stretched so wide that he feared his face would split in two.  
“Thanks - he said, still shivering a bit - it means a lot to me”  
James nodded again, then got up and asked Max for a dry towel.  
“Help him get dry - she answered with a smirk and a wink - I don’t want to lose my showman”  
He got back, grumbling under his breath, and sat down again, outstretched hand toward guitar guy, the towel in a loose grip. Guitar guy smiled again, that fucking smile that could lit his whole face up, and started drying his hair, ending up with a turban on his head. He took a sip of his coffee and smiled again. And that was it: that guy was going to be the end of him, James just knew it. And he didn’t even know his name. The silence stretched on for a while, then he heard guitar guy’s voice again.  
“This country’s weather is crazy” he muttered, looking outside with the cup still in his hands, and James curiosity picked up on that.  
“Where are you from?” He asked without looking up from the screen.  
“Melbourne”  
James arched one red eyebrow.  
“It’s pretty far”  
“Just as far as I need it to be - guitar guy turned around - name’s John, anyway”  
John. So, now, the guy with great taste in music, killer smile and blue eyes had a name. “Is it your real name?”  
“Uh? - John looked curious - why do you ask?”  
“You know, John Doe and stuff”  
“Oh - John started laughing, and it sounded so good that James found himself smiling - no, it’s really John. Pinky promise”  
“John - James repeated - ok, John. I’m James”  
John laughed again.  
“John and James, mh? Not the rarest of names”  
James smiled again: it was the second time in a row, a fucking record. He was sure that Max was keeping count of his smiles, somewhere.  
“Not really, no”  
John took another sip of his coffee, a water drop making its way on his forehead.  
“So - he said, reaching for his guitar case - I owe you a song if I’m not wrong. What would you like to hear, James?”  
James’ eyes made an appearance from behind the laptop’s lid.  
“What, here”  
“Sure man, why not “ John smile lit up the whole room, this time, not just his face, and he watched as he propped his elbow on his guitar.  
James looked at Anne, that shrugged, and at a grinning Max; closed the laptop and crossed one leg over the other.   
“Could you play some Moody Blues?”  
John just nodded and started on Night in white satin.  
The song was amazing, John’s voice was soft and clear, the coffee was still hot and the rain kept on pouring for the whole evening. It was quite close to perfect. 

\----

Wow, two chapters in a row! Don't get too used to this, even if I've practically already written the whole thing! :D Also, sorry for any eventual mistake, but I'm italian.


	3. Stand up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really like him, don’t you?”  
> Anne was looking at John too, arms crossed across her chest and gaze fixed on the guy.  
> “He’s a very good musician”  
> “That’s not what I meant - her voice was dry as always - and you know that”

Got lost in the kerosene sun  
I’ll make it back before the daylight comes  
time is short and time is swift  
got to focus who I spend it with  
Bush - Stand up

“Tell me something - James looked at John with a smirk: the man’s face was hidden under a red scarf and a black woolen beanie - how many songs do you know?”  
John shook his head, a smile hidden behind the scarf.  
"And how many words do you know? - he shoot back, opening and closing his right hand against the cold - after all, you’re always writing”  
“Touché. Aren’t you cold?”  
John nodded, and when he opened his moth to answer he pulled his scarf down, revealing chapped lips.  
“Fuck yes - he muttered, looking a bit vulnerable, maybe - but yesterday was raining and I lost a whole day of work, so I have to make up for it today”  
His posture was strange, too, but James attributed it to the cold and let it go. What he couldn’t let go of was the idea of letting him out in that weather, while he sat in The Walrus with a cup of hot coffee but, actually, he didn’t know how to get John inside without making him feel like a charity case.  
“So, well - he answered - good luck”  
John just nodded and resumed his strumming, looking ad James’ retreating back.

He was trying to write, he really was, but kept on looking at John’s hunched figure on the other side of the window.  
“You really like him, don’t you?”  
Anne was looking at John, arms crossed across her chest and gaze fixed on the guy.  
“He’s a very good musician”  
“That’s not what I meant - her voice was dry as always - and you know that”  
James looked at her, undecided. She was just as observant as Max, but much more quiet about that. Lying wouldn’t have made sense, so he just sighed and got up.  
“So it seems - he muttered, reaching for the door and putting on his scarf - could you make another coffee please? With sugar, a lot of it”  
Anne nodded, and let him go.

“Get inside, it’s fucking cold”  
John’s eyebrows rose from under the beanie, black curls falling on his face.  
“I told you I need to…”  
“Yes, I know what you told me, but it’s too cold and I’m not leaving you here”  
“What?”  
“I’m not leaving you out here, in the cold”  
“I’m no charity case, James”  
And there it was, his greatest fear, and John had even used the exact words he thought he would use: his blue eyes grew cold and he stiffened, moving his weight on his right leg with a grimace.  
“I know - James growled, keeping him upright with a hand on his elbow - I’m buying you for the whole day”  
“You’re WHAT?!”  
“Oh, come on John - he was getting frustrated, and more than a bit uneasy - I like you music, I like to hear you playing. I’ll pay you to play for me, inside the bar, where it’s not this cold and I can hear you better. What do you think?”  
John’s eyes grew huge and his mouth moved from a firm line to a small O.  
“What the fuck, man - he exhaled - why are you doing this?”  
“I don’t really know. Are you coming or not?”  
John nodded minutely, gathering his things and straightening up with what looked like a poorly masked pained frown, following him with a limp that he hadn’t noticed the day before, knee barely bending: he slowed his steps to let him catch up. The moment John got inside his smile was back in full force, and James found himself wondering if that smile wasn’t really a mask, after all, while John sat down, took a sip of the coffee Max handed him and asked: “So, James. What would you like me to play?”


	4. The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John groaned, hiding his face in his hands.  
> “Stop that”  
> “Stop what?”  
> John’s breath sounded ragged, and when his head came up his eyes were full of could fury.  
> “Do not pity me”  
> “John - James sat at the table, green eyes in blue ones - I’m not. I swear. I just care about you, it’s not the same thing. The cold is affecting you, I can see that, and I don’t want you to have to take like four busses to get warm at home”

I don't know if I can open up  
I've been opened enough  
I don't know if I can open up  
I'm not a birthday present

Marilyn Manson - The Mephistopheles of L.A.

 

“Where are you staying?”  
John jumped, guitar in hand, and looked up at James. The man’s grin was cheshire like, damn him.  
“The fuck - he muttered - are you trying to give me a heart attack?”  
“Believe me: if i had wanted to, you d’be dead. Now - his grin became a smile, albeit slowly - where are you staying?”  
“Aylesbury estate”  
So, public housing. There were 16 kms of nothing between the City, with its shiny buildings, and Thamesmead.  
“Hm - he nodded - Kubrick filmed A clockwork orange in Thamesmead, if I’m not mistaken”  
“Did he, now?”  
John’s eyes lit up, and he started blowing on his fingers to warm them up. James had passed some kind of test, apparently. Maybe he had thought he would have judged him. Maybe not. Maybe who the fuck knew.  
“I don’t think those are working for you - James pointed at John’s gloves, cut at the fingers - why don’t you get a new pair?”  
John laughed. It was a beautiful sound.  
“Can’t play if I got my fingers covered in wool, man. Can’t feel the strings”  
“Well, in this weather you won’t be able to feel them for much longer anyway, I’m afraid”  
And fuck if he was right: it was freezing, the strings felt like blades on his fingertips.  
“So what - he forced a grin - you gonna buy me for the whole day again?”  
“Would you mind it?”  
Would he? Hell if he knew. He was grateful, he really was. Spending the day in a warm place instead than outside in the cold had been awesome, lots of customers had left him something, Anne and Max made a killer coffee and James had even paid him as promised. But he felt like if he was stealing from him, and the man had even bought him lunch. He had mulled over that for the whole night, on his mattress, and had nearly lost the bus because he was so lost in his thoughts. James was becoming his lifeline after just two days, and it scared him a fucking lot. What if he saw him, really saw him for what he was? He would have left then or, even worse, would have stayed out of pity. John hated being pitied for what had happened to him, and it was something that seemed inevitable in every relationship he had ever had. That was why he had to leave Melbourne, get somewhere else, leave again like some derailed train. Back to the point, would he mind being booked again for the day? No, he wouldn’t. His balls were freezing, for fuck sake, and he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. But he was scared, so so so fucking scared. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, managing to look like a perplexed fish.  
“You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it”  
John seemed so lost. Shit, he would have wanted nothing more than get him somewhere warm as soon as possible. Like, yesterday. And do it every day. He didn’t like that look on his face.  
“It’s not that. I don’t want you to waste so much money on me”  
James arched one eyebrow.  
“You’re too good with that guitar to be a waste of money - he answered, managing a smile - have you ever tried teaching?”  
John shrugged, hiding half of his face in the red scarf.  
“Sometimes. Never really worked”  
James would have wanted to ask why, but decided to let go. John was so layered that even his secrets seemed to have secrets, but was entitled to keep his own thoughts for himself anyway.  
“Right - he sighed - are you coming in or not?”  
“I…just - John looked at him, really looked at him, eyes in the eyes and all - do you really want me to?”  
“If I really…holy fuck, why do you think I asked?”  
John shrugged again but didn’t answer. Out of pity? Maybe. Could James really like having him around? Hardly. He wasn’t easy to have around, and he knew that. Or so he had been told so many times he lost count. He eyed James’ proffered hand and took it, biting his tongue to stop any sound his treacherous mouth could ever let loose when his leg and back protested even that small movement, sending a sharp spike of pain through his body, right to his head. James’ grip got stronger.  
“You alright? - he asked - are you in pain?”  
John shook his head.  
“Nothing, it’s nothing. The cold. I’m fine”  
Well he didn’t look fine, James thought. He slowed his steps again to let John walk with him, ready to catch him should he fall, his limp even more pronounced.

—

“I’m calling a cab”  
John looked at James, face hidden in his cup.  
“Oh - he answered, perplexed - I thought you liked walking”  
“I do. The cab is not for me”  
The blue eyes James was looking into got cold again. It was a mesmerizing transformation.  
“You know I can’t afford that”  
“And that’s why I’m paying for it”  
John groaned, hiding his face in his hands.  
“Stop that”  
“Stop what?”  
John’s breath sounded ragged, and when his head came up his eyes were full of could fury.  
“Do not pity me”  
“John - James sat at the table, green eyes in blue ones - I’m not. I swear. I just care about you, it’s not the same thing. The cold is affecting you, I can see that, and I don’t want you to have to take like four busses to get warm at home”  
John smirked.  
“Warm, sure. Whatever. Ok man, if you really need to you can call that cab”  
“And, I’m coming with you”  
“Wait, what? - John’s eyes grew huge - buy me dinner at least”  
James laughed, all crinkled eyes, and Max had to stop herself from taking a picture and blackmail him later.  
“I meant I’m taking the same cab to get home - he explained - and I bought you yourself if I’m not mistaken”  
“A-ha”  
John’s smile vanished and he grew silent, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, gaze on the few people outside the Walrus until James tapped his fingers on the table top, twice.  
“John, where are you?”  
“What…here, why do you ask?”  
James’ smile was sad, but was there anyway.  
“I was just kidding, you know. About buying you.”  
“Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry”  
James nodded, taking his phone out of his jeans’ pocket and calling the cab he promised, and John’s eyes wandered outside again. He liked being around James, a lot, but was too scared to let him in. His experiences with people had sucked, to say the least, and even if James seemed to genuinely care for him he really wasn’t keen on letting their relationship develop. The problem was: his head told him to stop, his whole being was like fuck it, let’s try.  
A literal mess on more or less two legs.  
“And…you’re gone again”  
James’ voice shook him from his reverie.  
“Beg you pardon?”  
“You were thinking so hard I could hear your brain creaking”  
James’ eyes never left him, even while he was putting his phone back in his pocket. John shrugged. He did it so often.  
“It’s nothing - he answered, biting his lip - just got much going on my mind”  
James nodded, keeping an eye on him: John looked relaxed on his chair, but he could see a tremor in his muscles, a tell tale rippling that spoke of a fight or flight impulse. He just had to know which one of the two instincts would prevail. He took his time to study him. He had something that looked like a pirate flag tattooed on his right forearm, and a hint of black circles under his eyes. Did he sleep enough? Did he ate enough, even? James had to stop himself from becoming a mother hen, but was getting more and more difficult.

The cab ride to John’s place was silent: the two men shared the backseat, John’s head lulling on the headrest; when they arrived James had to shake him awake and watch as he forced his legs to move with a grimace, blue eyes squeezed shut. He kept his gaze on him even while the cab started moving again.


	5. Baby come home

I find you all by yourself on the street again  
baby come home again

Bush - Baby come home

The next morning John wasn’t there, nor the day after, and the next. James thought about that for a long while, eyes on his laptop screen looking at the same word for hours, unable to write a single, complete sentence. Maybe he had taken some free time, just to rest for a while, but didn’t he need the money? And his problems with his legs and the cold hand’t gone unnoticed. If only he had thought about asking him for his number he could have called but no, he was too distracted by his eyes, and his curls and his whatever to be at least a bit rational. He sighed, angry at himself, and shut the laptop.  
“You ok?”  
Max was looking at him, worried, from behind the counter. James simply nodded, then shook his head and proceeded to punch his leg.  
“Yes. No. Fuck it - he snapped - tell Anne I said hi”  
And with that, he paid and was gone.

The cab ride was even more silent than the one he shared with John, his nervous answers discouraging every tentative conversation the driver might have had the temptation to start. What if John was simply sleeping? What if he didn’t want to see him? What if he didn’t want him to…shit, Aylesbury was huge, and he didn’t even know John’s complete name. He couldn’t start ringing at every intercom asking for the guy with the blue eyes, curly hair and a guitar, could he?  
The wind slapped him in the face as he got out of the cab, he paid the driver and watched him leave. Now what? He had a general idea of John’s whereabout, but he should have to ask someone, and talking to people was something he dreaded. John had been a lucky exception.  
He started asking around, until he found a blonde woman that posted him in the direction the “guy with the prosthetic leg and that guitar”.   
The guy with the prosthetic leg and that guitar: the prosthetic leg part got lost at the tone that woman had used. Is was distaste, and spite, and contempt, and he couldn’t understand how a man like John could be the target of such hate. Then it hit him in full force. The guy with the prosthetic leg. John had been standing for days, with his guitar and no crutches, in the cold. It must have been excruciating, and how the hell didn’t he notice the leg? He left the woman there, running towards John’s block, and got inside with a man with two bags full of groceries. He should have brought something, he realized, but it was a little too late for that.  
Silver, that woman had told him that John’s name was Silver. He found his door and started knocking.

His missing leg hurt like a bitch, with the cold. He knew that the mere idea of a hurting missing leg was absurd, but the truth was that his fucking missing leg was hurting so much that his head felt like exploding, he was nauseous and had actual tears in his eyes. He had tried to get up and reach his spot in front of the Walrus, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate. The cold was a curse on his stump, but this was the first time it affected him like that. Melbourne’s weather wasn’t that harsh, and so maybe, maybe, moving to London hadn’t been his best idea. He hadn’t slept a single minute that night, the pain keeping him awake, and he had no money nor strength to go out and get some painkillers. Actually, he hadn’t been able to catch a full night sleep in a whole fucking month. And just when he had started to succumb to his exhaustion someone started knocking on his door. He would have gladly ignored that someone, if not for his voice, calling him.   
James.  
What the fuck was he doing there?  
He got out of bed, half crawling and half walking, slowly putting his prosthetic leg on and reaching the door in the record time of five whole minutes. When he opened the door he was sweating, his leg’s remaining muscles were screaming bloody murder, his back was killing him, his headache had gone up a thousand of notches and two sea green eyes were taking him in, scared and worried.

It was cold, so fucking cold, in there. John had no heating, and it felt colder inside then it probably was outside. He felt a wave of white hot anger invest him while he walked past John, telling him to gather his clothes in a bag. John just looked at him with tired blue eyes, a yellowish comforter around his shoulder, his posture asymmetric.   
“Fuck you, James - he groaned - I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Why do you care.”  
“Look, I just do. Ok? I just do. Get your things please, you’re coming with me”  
It was meant as a request, but sounded so much more like an order that John recoiled, tightening the comforter around his shoulders.  
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need your pity, or your help, or whatever the fuck you thing you’re doing here”.  
James needed to calm down, he knew that. He had to. But the thought of John left there in the cold set him on edge again. Anger was the only way he knew to express how he felt, but it looked like it wouldn’t be enough. He fell on a kitchen chair and hid his face in his hands. He could see his own breath, for fuck sake, and John’s too. More labored. Quick. Angry.   
“I’m sorry - he forced out - I knew this was a bad idea. I just got scared when you stopped showing up at The Walrus”.  
John, on his side, was so royally pissed that he had nearly forgotten the pain he was in, but felt it all over again the right moment the adrenaline worn off and fuck, he couldn’t stay upright for a single more second. He tried to sit against the wall, but slid and fell with a cry, comforter in a heap on the ground. Pain made him dizzy, and the first thing he heard when he came to was a string of curses and his name, repeated so, so often. John, wake up. John, wake up.  
He felt tears burn his eyes and his hands trembled as he tried with all his might to keep his breathing in check. It might have been an unconscious reaction, but his hand found his way on James’ shirt, fingers tightening in the black fabric, forehead pressed against the older man’s chest.   
“John - he heard James say - John come on, look at me. Look at me, John”  
John moved his head, just a bit, just as much as he needed to peer in James’ eyes.  
“There, that’s better. What’s wrong, you sick?”  
James’ eyes roamed on his body, looking for injuries, one hand checking his temperature.  
“No…no. James, no. It’s the cold. Just the cold”  
“Is it your leg?”  
John’s eyes grew huge, and he scrambled, trying to get away.  
“My leg? What…nothing’s wrong with my legs”  
“John, I know you’ve got a prosthetic leg, ok? - he tried to slide closer to him - I know, it’s okay. It’s nothing to be ashamed of”  
“Shit. No. Who told you? - John screamed, tears finally spilling - who the fuck told you, uh?”  
“John, calm down…”  
“WHO TOLD YOU?”  
James sighed.  
“A blonde woman - he replied, his eyes neve leaving John’s - I don’t think she really likes you”  
“That. Fucking. Bitch! - John was sitting against the wall, one leg bent, hands in his curls - she hates me, man. Says I’m trash, I’m too noisy with my guitar, I’m a fucking freak”  
James chocked back any words he could say, taking in John’s form again.  
“You’re coming with me, John - he repeated, voice firm and soft - if the cold does this to you I won’t let you stay here. I can’t. I’ll get you to my place, ok? I won’t hurt you - he outstretched one hand towards him, taking in his wet eyes and trembling hands - I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you. I swear.”  
After what felt like ages, but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, John nodded. It was small and jerky, but it was there, and it sprang James into action. He found John’s crutch, put his clothes and toiletries in a green backpack and his guitar in its case, and bundled him in the warmest clothes he could find, adding his own jacket for good measure, then called a cab and gathered him in his arms as they waited. When John asked why he was doing all that he just kissed his head and kept silent.

James had to literally carry John down the stairs and into the cab: his muscles were spasming, and had gone so rigid that even a small movement set his nerves ablaze with pain. It was chronic, as much he knew, and John had lived with that for how long? It must have been awful. When he sat him down on the backseat John groaned, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes: he must have passed out because when he opened them again James was lowering him in a bath of warm water. He fell asleep with James’ fingers carding through his hair.


	6. Let him run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should have told me”  
> John’s head lulled from one side to the other of the tub. He shrugged, one knee visible, the other underwater, missing the support of the rest of the leg. His body wasn’t visible under the soapy water, and…shit, had James used a bath bomb? Were those glitters? Really?

I'm a warrior, don't worry about me  
She's a stallion - Bush

“You should have told me”  
John’s head lulled from one side to the other of the tub. He shrugged, one knee visible and the other underwater, missing the support of the rest of the leg. His body wasn’t visible under the soapy water, and…shit, had James used a bath bomb? Were those glitters? Really?  
“Yes John, I used a bath bomb. It was the quickest way to prepare your bath. Now, why didn’t you tell me?”  
“What are you, a mind reader?”  
“No - James smiled - you should have seen your face while you were looking at those glitters. Would you answer me now, please?”  
“Hm - John looked at the water, playing with the foam - care to repeat your question?”  
“Holy fuck - James groaned - why didn’t you tell me, uh?”  
“What, that I’m a cripple?”  
John’s face betrayed all his uneasiness, hands trembling, eyes downcast.  
“Oh, come oh John - James felt so frustrated that he felt like screaming - I don’t give a fuck about your leg. You should have told me that you had no heating and were in pain!”  
“And then what, James? Then what? Uh? I’m not some damsel in distress, I can take care of myself!”  
“Well, you fucking weren’t!”  
James shut his eyes, covering them with one trembling hand, but when he looked at John again he felt his anger disappear: he was sitting in the water, hands under his armpits, gaze adverted, torturing his bottom lip with his teeth.  
“Shit - James muttered - sorry. John, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have screamed at you”  
John nodded.  
“No, you’re right - he rasped - really, you are. It’s just so hard to…”  
John punched the water, spraying James’ shirt, but the man didn’t seem to care.  
“There are things you can’t get used to” - he said, and John would have answered with his usual spite, but the tone of James’ voice made him stop. He was talking out of experience. So he just nodded, watching the man get a dollop of shampoo in one hand and come sit at his side. He tensed when he felt hands on his head, but relaxed almost immediately. He was right: he didn’t know James, and James didn’t know him, but he trusted the man already. And it wasn't like him.  
“How’s the pain?”  
He considered lying, but found he couldn’t.  
“Still there - he gritted out - a bit better maybe”  
“Well, that’s something at least - James studied his hands, unsure - how would you feel about me giving you some painkillers and offering you my guest room? I mean as a roommate, not just for tonight”  
John felt his throat closing and his eyes got wet again, but for something else entirely. He decided that the water was much more interesting to look at than everything else and bit his lip.  
“I don’t want to impose”  
James sighed.  
“I invited you. Actually, I kidnapped you. More or less”  
“I know. I know. I just… - John looked at James, then, and his wet eyes made the man lose a beat - we’ve been knowing each other for so few, and I feel like you saved my life already. It’s hard to get my head around this”  
James nodded, starting to rinse John's hair, and he felt his shoulder relax a bit more.  
“Tell you what - James proposed - stay here, take the room. The warmth will help you with the pain and you’ll be able to get out and work again. We can share the outgoings. What do you think?”  
John swallowed and nodded.  
“Oh, and John - James added with a smirk - I hope you like cats”  
John’s face lit up, eyes sparkling.  
“You got one?”  
“Two - mouthed James, enjoying John’s smile - can I ask you something?”  
John’s eyebrows rose, hands gripping the rim of the tub.  
“Go ahead”  
“Why didn’t you use your crutch at work?”  
“Seriously? - John’s laugh sounded bitter, but he was smiling anyway - a one legged guy with a guitar asking for money. Talk about pathetic”  
“There’s nothing pathetic about you”  
John’s laugh died and he went red.  
“Can I ask you something now, James?”  
John tried to turn around, but one hand on his shoulder stopped him.  
“Don’t move - he heard - I don’t want to get soap in your eyes. What do you want to know?”  
“Your hair. Would they be red? Are they red, I mean?”  
John was looking at him, and for a brief moment he felt as if he was giving a bath to a Labrador.  
“Uh…yes. Why do you care?”  
“Why do you keep them so short, then? Green eyes and red hair, really? It’s the rarest thing on Earth!”  
“Why do I…is this even a real question?”  
John snorted, water falling from his forehead.  
“Of course it is”  
“Well then - James caressed his beard, leaving a wet trail on his face that he dried with a towel, making John smile again - if you really like red hair I’ll have to let them grow”  
John’s smile vanished.  
“Are you…seriously?”  
James arched one eyebrow.  
“Deadly”  
“Oh shit, how do I - John’s eyes were so full of fear, and for the love of God James couldn’t understand why - are you flirting with me?”  
“Is it so wrong? - John welt one warm hand on his throat, washing the soap away - are you ok?”  
“You saw me?”  
“Beg you pardon?”  
“You saw me. I mean - he gestured towards his missing leg - you saw me”  
“Of course I saw you, couldn’t really give you a bath with your clothes on. What is this all about?”  
“You saw me, James, and you still want to…”  
John’s voice died, and his eyes found James lips. He just nodded, looking down at him.  
“Could you please…I mean, if you’re so sure about it…would you maybe kiss me? Maybe?”  
“Gladly”  
John knew it was pathetic, and stupid, and what the fuck, but it felt like being whole again. And it wasn’t physical, not just that, it wasn’t about his leg. It was more a “oh shit, maybe I found my place”. And it all came from just a touch from James’ lips.


	7. I believe in you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know how you feel - he stated, voice sober and eyes glassy - I know that kind of anger. Just a miracle could vanquish it, right? - he shook his head - but miracles don’t exist, James”  
> James held him tight.  
> “I know”

You could right my wrongs and when I'm at my worst  
You come inside and make me human  
I want you to know I believe in you  
I believe in you

I believe in you - Bush

John didn’t think he had ever felt that safe: he was cocooned in a blanket with a cup of tea waiting on the small table in front of him, back against James’ chest, one of the older man’s arms around his middle…without wearing his prosthetic leg. James had insisted that he used the crutch after helping him getting out of the tub, and his objections meet such a resistance that he had to surrender to his will. But, honestly? His missing leg still hurt like a bitch, and the sight of the box of painkillers sitting on the table next to a sandwich made him feel better already.  
“You’ll need to eat something before taking those pills - suggested James without taking his eyes from the book he was keeping upright with one hand, the other playing with John’s curls - actually, i think you should eat a bit more in general”  
John didn’t like the motherhenning, but he had to admit it was cute, and felt too comfortable and content to answer: even his back was starting to relax, so he just nodded agains James’ chest, then grinned when a red and white cat made an appearance, sniffed at his prothesis and looked at him with half slitted yellow eyes.  
“Don’t tell me you got that cat because it matched your hair”  
James laugh rumbled against his back.  
“First of all, that’s a he. His name is Ben, and I suppose that he’s trying to decide how to kill you, since you stole his spot on the sofa”  
“Oh, that’s so cute - John rasped, voice dripping sleep and sarcasm - and what about the other one?”  
“Billy - James put down his book when a spasm ran through John’s back, making him gasp - I got no idea where he went, but hell’ come back when he’ll be hungry”  
He started massaging John’s back, one hand on his shoulder, the other trying to unknot the tension he could still feel in his muscles. “Eat something, ok? - he added, moving one hand at the back of John’s head to keep him close - then you can get the painkillers, come on”  
John tried to hide his face in the crook of James’ neck, but the older man managed to coax him out of his hiding: he proceed to groan, then one arm stuck out from the blanket nest and reached for the sandwich. He folded it in two and, under James wide as saucers eyes, stuffed it all in his mouth, looking up at him with a face worth of a fat hamster.  
“You little shit - James laughed, kissing his forehead - get your pills and go to sleep now, before I let Ben do what he wants with you”  
John managed to swallow and grinned, washing down the pills with some tea, then he closed his eyes and fell asleep safely, maybe for the first time in ages.

It didn’t last long, that calm. James was enjoying his book, his tea and the closeness and warmth of John’s body when it began: it started with a twich that, honestly, he din’t even consider until it escalated in a full blown nightmare that he really didn’t know how to handle. That wasn’t even classifiable as a nightmare, it was a fucking night terror, and John. Wouldn’t. Wake. Up. It scared him shitless, and all he could do was trying to keep him still to stop him from hurting himself.  
John started awake after nearly twenty minutes of choked screams and intermittent tears, and it took him nearly sixty whole seconds to understand where he was. Then came the shame, and he tried to reach for his crutch to get up: all James needed to do to keep him there was keeping it out of his reach, so he just toed it and let it fall. It should have infuriated John, but actually he just felt hollow: he had hoped to hide at least this from James, to keep him in the dark, never letting him see how fragmented and fucked up his dead was, but luck had never been on his side: why should it have started now?  
“I’m sorry - he muttered without even try to look at James, using the back of the sofa to get up - I should leave. You won’t be able to sleep a single night with me here, and I don’t want to…”  
James clicked his tongue, relieved to see him finally coherent and pissed at his reaction.  
“No way in hell, John - he interrupted him, one hand on his chest to keep him there - you’re not going anywhere”  
And that was it: John snapped, red eyed and desperate.  
”Is that a threat, James? - he hissed - you fucking took me here, and now I can’t leave?”  
An arched eyebrow was the only answer he obtained, and he tried to get up again, harder, only to be pulled down again.  
“You’re not my prisoner, John - James whispered in his sweaty curls - you’re my friend, and so much more. I just want you to be ok. You know this, right?”  
John swallowed, back rigid against his chest, one hand on his mouth: it took him a while but he finally gave a jerky nod, still too embarrassed to turn around. James just sighed and fell down again against the sofa, pulling John along.  
“Nightmares, night terrors and stuff like this - he explained, one hand on John’s chest to keep track of his still erratic breathing, the other in his hair - are nothing to be ashamed of”  
John finally turned around, and his glare could have killed a lesser man, but not him. He thumbed at the tear tracks and encircled his waist with his arms. “Nothing to be ashamed of, John - he repeated, making his point - you heard me?”  
John scoffed, but didn’t try to move again.  
“If you say so”  
“I do - James kissed his head when it came to rest under his chin - I used to have them all the time. Still get them sometime, you know”  
John looked up, big blue eyes still red and puffy. “I’m sorry” he mumbled, feeling guilty for something out of his control. He didn’t want James to experience what he himself just did, hated the idea of something like that happening to the man in front of him. James just pointed at the opposite wall.  
“They started when the man I loved died”  
John stared, than looked at the wall: there was a picture, there: James and another man, laughing at something long forgotten. He was so beautiful. with long red hair and a black t-shirt, and the man with him was beautiful too, with smiling blue eyes and blonde hair. He couldn’t even start to understand how James could find him attractive, after having lived with such perfection next to him, so he just kept on staring.  
“Which was his name?” He asked, hoping to do the right thing. Talking about his past was something he hated, and he didn’t know if James would be so open about it.  
“Thomas - came the answer after a few seconds - his name was Thomas”  
There was such fondness in his voice. And raw desperation.  
“What happened?”  
“They took him from me. His family - was the quiet answer - we were younger, so much younger. His family was a very strict one, very religious, a bunch of bigots. They discovered our relationship, sent him to some doctor that pumped him full of meds. They wanted him to stop being gay, could you believe it?”  
He had to stop. Had to collect his thoughts, his anger. Couldn’t explode lie that again. He inhaled, and felt John’s hand on his cheek, blue eyes looking at him with worry. That saved him.  
“He killed himself” He finished, and John’s hand stilled, his eyes grew huge.  
“I’m so sorry, James - he spoke through the lump in his throat - I’m so fucking sorry”  
James nodded, still looking at the picture.  
“You know, when he died I got sick - he started again, and John stopped breathing - they told me I was depressed, and I really was, but they thought I was sad. I wasn’t sad, I was angry. I was fucking furious, I still am”  
James voice trembled with barely repressed wrath, but his hands were still soft in John’s curls.  
“When I understood that, anger became my weapon. It got me sick? I had to unleash it, I stopped keeping it in check. You see yourself as unworthy, John and you’re so wrong - he finished, moving his gaze on the blue eyes that looked at him with awe and wonder - I’m the really dangerous one, here”  
John would have wanted to stop him, to tell him that he wasn’t scared, but James’ words just kept on coming: “Thomas was the dam that could keep my rage in check - he added, hands going up and down John’s arms to keep him warm - and with you I feel like I’ve found something like that again”  
“I’m not him, James - John choked out, eyes burning again - I’m sorry I’m not him”  
“John, I know that - James’ green gaze fell on him, arms holding him tighter - you’re a mess, you’re far more dissolute than he was. You’re hard headed, you keep your secrets so well hidden that one might think you got none, you can’t take an advice if it would save your life - he put his index finger on John’s lips to stop him from speaking and smile - let me finish, curls. You love music, you’re a fucking talent at that. Your smile could kill me, and I wish you’d smile more and smirk less. Your eyes are so expressive that sometimes I think that you wouldn’t even need to speak. And you’re so smart, John. Sometimes eve too much for your own good.”  
John tensed, then relaxed against him, hiding his eyes under his hair.  
“You’re just as good as he was, John - James finished, kissing his head first, then his lips - believe me, you are”  
John nodded, then sniffled.  
“I know how you feel - he stated, voice sober and eyes glassy - I know that kind of anger. Just a miracle could vanquish it, right? - he shook his head - but miracles don’t exist, James”  
James held him tight.  
“I know”  
And that’s when Billy decided to make an appearance, taking a leap from the corridor and landing right on John’s back, making him jump.  
“James, is he trying to kill me too? - he asked, trying to take a look at the cat that, as calm as ever, was liking his paws right there, on the small of his back - because he could be succeeding”  
“No, John - James smirked, caressing Billy’s head - I think he might actually like you”  
“Ow, fuck - John let his head fall on James’ stomach - if this is how he demonstrates it I’m happy he doesn’t fucking hate me then!”


	8. Feels like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know we’re sharing my bed, right? Did you notice that we’ve been doing that for days? - he arched one eyebrow, pulling John down on the sofa with him - and this is also your home. You know this too, I hope”  
> John bit at his lip, unable to look at him.  
> “I just need some time. To, you know. To understand”

A window breaks, down a long, dark street  
And a siren wails in the night  
But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me  
And I can almost see, through the dark there is light

Feels like home - Linda Ronstadt

 

A couple of days later, when John’s leg started working again, James asked him if he needed to get back to his rented flat and bring home something. Home, he said home, and John literally jumped up and hugged the life out of him. And it was so sudden and unexpected that James didn’t get it, at first. He didn’t know John’s history, didn’t know that he’d had no place to call home for a fucking long time, but held him nonetheless, and decided that he would have given everything to keep him in his arms, a smiling man with Guinness World Record nightmares, a beautiful mind and stunning blue eyes.  
“So - he asked kissing John’s head - you need to go back or not?”  
“I think so - he nodded, curls brushing James’ chest - I’d like to take some of my books and my CDS. Do you mind if I…I’ll keep them in my room. You room. I mean, your guest room”  
James sighed: he knew this had to be addressed, so why not now?  
“You know we’re sharing my bed, right? Did you notice that we’ve been doing that for days? - he arched one eyebrow, pulling John down on the sofa with him - and this is also your home. You know this too, I hope”  
John bit at his lip, unable to look at him.  
“I just need some time. To, you know. To understand”  
“Ok - James held him - ok, no problem. You can bring here everything you want. This is your home, and will be your home for as long as you want”  
John’s answer never came, he just shrugged. He seemed to do that every time things started getting serious.  
“What happened to you, hm? - James asked, kissing his hair - what happened to you?”  
John swallowed and shook his head.  
“Max and Anne told me you lost your leg in an accident - James kept on - but you didn’t, right?”  
“James, please”  
“Did you lie?”  
John swallowed again, fighting against the lump that was forming in his throat.  
“You already know the answer”  
And James felt like something heavy, with a foul stench of fear, betrayal and broken trust had just landed on his chest.  
“Why did you lie? - he asked, trying to keep his composure, inhaling through his nose - can you tell me this, at least?”  
John’s mouth opened and closed again, James’ arms around him felt more threatening than comforting all of a sudden.  
“It’s awful. I…I don’t want to talk about it - he pleaded, blue eyes searching for green ones - please. James, I’m not…I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t…I swear. I didn’t…”  
He was rambling, and he knew that, but in his past hid such horrible things that just thinking about them made him nauseous. But how could he convince James that he wasn’t dangerous, or evil or who knew what if he refused to talk about it? He couldn’t, maybe. But he didn’t want to lose this man, that seemed to trust him enough to let him in his home, help him, fucking save his sanity and his life. He felt James’ hands soften, and took a fucking big decision just because of that. Because of James’ hands softening on his body.  
“I - he started, throat dry, and had to clear his voice to keep it steady - i will tell you everything you want to know. This evening, after dinner. Is it ok?”  
James looked at him, conflicted. He didn’t want to hurt John, but he couldn’t live with someone with no past. It was like living with a time bomb: the last three night had been plagued by John’s nightmares, sometime so bad that it took him ages to calm him down, and it was taking its toll on both of them. He needed to know what could have prompted them, if possible. How to stop them, why he had them in the fist place. Which were John’s boundaries, if there was something that could trigger him. He knew that there was something wrong with John’s past, and wanted to try and make it right for him. Even if it wasn’t possible, he perfectly knew that. But he could give him a beautiful present, try to make him…make him what, forget everything and go on? How hypocrite: he was the first to keep his own past close, right on the wall in front of him, in the form of a smiling dead man. He couldn’t help John with his past, but could help him with the present, and that’s what he was going to do.  
He nodded, eyes soft, and muttered a thank you against John’s lips.

—

“How the fuck did you manage to sleep with this cold I’ll never understand”  
James was mumbling, looking at the pufs of breath that were coming out of his own mouth, hands in his pockets. John grinned, eyes sparkling and his whole body bundled in a huge green parka that James had just given him.  
“Horizontally” he answered. And oh, if looks could kill he would have been dead already.  
“You idiot - James growled - You hurt yourself. Don’t make me think about it”  
“I’m not - John stopped in mid sentence, grabbing a box full of books and hauling it on his shoulder, only to frown when James took it from him - I was saying, I’m not making you do anything. And I could have carried that”  
“  
Sure - James grumbled, giving in to his favorite reference in pop culture ever - and the dead want slurpees. You still look like death warmed over, John. Take the lighter box and let’s get out of this fucking icebox”  
“Hey! - John mock whined - it’s my home you’re talking about, you know”  
James stopped, half turning around, pinning John down with a piercing green gaze and one arched eyebrow and fuck, John tensed, half scared and half amused.  
“This is not your home anymore”  
James let the box fall to the ground with a noise that surely made the blonde woman hate John even more, reached him in two long strides and kissed him with a possessiveness that left John winded. And just a bit aroused. Maybe.  
“Uh, yes - he stammered when the kiss needed, with James’ hands still oh his shoulders and red spreading from his neck to his whole face - if this is the reaction i’ll keep on calling this place home, i think”  
“Don’t you dare - James’ smile was all teeth, predatory, and the most exciting thing John had ever seen - you little shit”  
“Alright”  
John’s eyes never left James’ lips and, for once, he was the one to start the kiss. James followed his lead, and kept him up with an arm around his middle when he felt him stumble.  
You alright? he would have wanted to ask, but his moth was on John’s and his hands had found his bare skin sliding inside the parka and under three layers of clothes.  
“Your hands are - John gasped when James’ mouth moved to his earlobe - God, so fucking cold”  
“Sorry, I’m sorry”  
James bit his neck, and John felt his good leg buckle. At least i’ve got the mattress behind me, he managed to think, but he never fell on it: he felt James’ hand on his back, slowing his fall, and when he finally went down he found himself trapped between James’ hand on his back, the man’s knee against his right side and his chest just a few inches from his own. He let out a breath and watched as James’ eyes roamed over his body. He looked wild, so different from the composed man that could write for days on end at the Walrus.  
“You alright?”  
James sounded out of breath, and it made him even sexier: john licked his lips and nodded, head still on the mattress and black curls splayed all around, then decided that biting James’ neck would be a sweet enough revenge. The groan it elicted from James’ throat made all his blood rush to his groin.  
“John - he heard - you sure?”  
John pushed up his hips, searching for James’ warmth.  
“Condoms and lube - he gasped - right behind the mattress”  
James’ chest was all he could see while the man rummaged in the box he used as a nightstand, then James’ hands were all over him again. James took the comforter and covered them both, before taking the fabric of John’ shirt with his teeth, pulling it up on his chest and scraping all along his skin with his beard, and John could have came just because of that sight.  
“Shit - he gasped - hands squeezing the life out of the sheet - shit, James, don’t…”  
He bit his lip hard, and covered his mouth with his tattooed arm: James was biting one of his nipples, while one hand was working his jeans open, and he nearly lost it when a cold hand slid down his boxers.  
“God, John. You’re so beautiful”  
John’s eyes shoot open, wide and blue.  
“What?” He whispered, but there was no mistaking the look of pure adoration on James’ face.  
“You’re so beautiful - he repeated - no one ever told you? Their loss”  
And, while James was still kissing his chest, John started fucking crying, just like that.  
“Don’t stop” he begged with a broken voice and wet eyes, and James looked at him, kissed him hard and obliged, working him open and sliding inside slowly.  
“You’re so beautiful - he kept on whispering against his skin, kissing away tears and fear at the same time - you’re so beautiful, John”  
John bit his lip to stop himself from screaming when he came, taking James down with him and arching his back. Then, spent and as happy as he hadn’t been in ages, he felt James slide out and cover him with his warmth and the yellow comforter, keeping him close and thumbing away the tears that kept coming.


	9. Accidents without emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was sheer luck that John couldn’t see his face, James knew that. His eyes were murderous. He would have wanted nothing more than go to the other side of the world just to hurt those people, kill them with his bare hands.

I would never leave you crawling  
Even on the bathroom floor  
It can be a lonely place,  
Have you ever been there before?  
Biffy Clyro - Accidents without emergency

 

“You know, when I told you John Silver was my real name - James’ hands stilled on his shoulders - well, maybe it isn’t. I mean, I don’t know actually”  
James kept silent for a while, then made John turn around and faced him: red eyed, sweaty and with a mess of curls on his head, and still he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He held him with one hand around his shoulders and brought the yellow comforter up to his chin, kissing the tip of his nose and letting him rest his head against his chest.  
“What do you mean?”  
John bit his lip.  
“I don’t really know who gave me that name - he mumbled against James’ chest - maybe my real parents, maybe not. Was left in an institute when i was five, or six, so maybe the guys there named me. I don’t know. I mean, mine is a strange name, isn’t it?”  
“And you don’t remember anything before that? Not even your name?”  
James kissed his forehead and caressed his back with his fingertips, and felt John shuddering.   
It wasn’t something John could control, it just happened every time he tried to recall something, anything that happened to him in those six years. His throat would close, his stomach would clench and his brain would send an alert signal to his whole body, threatening him with a complete break down. James must have felt that something was very wrong, because John found himself surrounded by strong, freckled arms while the older man tired to calm him down caressing his hair.   
“I don’t… - he started, mouth parched - not really. No. I might remember my parents as young people, mom must have been a junkie, I don’t know, she was always out of it. I remember skipping meals because they couldn’t remember to feed me, or something like that. I remember the hunger, and that the heat in that place was unbearable in the summer. And my father… - he swallowed - I remember him screaming and throwing things at me, some bottles, the tv remote, pretty much everything…I remember him putting out cigarettes on my back, or my arms, sometimes. Got my tattoo also to cover them”.  
It was sheer luck that John couldn’t see his face, James knew that. His eyes were murderous. He would have wanted nothing more than go to the other side of the world just to hurt those people, tear them apart with his bare hands.  
“I’ve got…holes - John got closer, and James held him - like…six whole years of my life are missing, and I don’t know what happened to me. Not clearly”  
James felt John’s hands tremble, and he clasped them between his own, kissing every finger.  
“I don’t know what happened, James - John stammered - but it can’t have been good, since my brain decided to delete it. Hm?”  
A pair of huge blue eyes was looking at him, and the fear that James could see there was palpable: not knowing what happened to you, having your own family destroy and abandon you, your own brain ripping it off because you couldn’t deal with it. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. James’ smile was sad when he kissed John’s lips.  
“You’re alright - he said, hands on his cheeks, trying to make eye contact - you’re alright, John. You’re not crazy, and there’s nothing wrong with you”  
“How can it not… - John bit his lip, still avoiding James’ gaze, took a huge breath and shook his head - it’s just that…I don’t know what happened to me, and what i did. It’s scary, James. It’s so…”  
He wasn’t crying, not really, but his eyes were burning, and his vision was getting blurry…so yes, maybe he was crying and fuck that, because James didn’t judge him, he didn’t comment: he just kept on kissing his forehead and his lips, caressing his curls, repeating his mantra of “You’re alright, John. You’re alright”  
John kept silent, sniffling and nuzzling James’ bare chest with his cold nose “Than you - he whispered then - wanna hear the rest?”  
And James felt something burst inside him. John, this man he had known just a few weeks ago, this man whose past seemed just as ugly as his own if not worse, was ready to bare his secrets to him. Trusted him with them. And he swore that he would protect him from everything, even from himself should the need arise. He didn’t envy the poor soul who would even try to lay a finger on him, or just look at John in the wrong way.   
He would destroy them. Fucking. Destroy. Them. All. One by one.  
“Tell me just what you’re comfortable with, curls. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
John positively giggled, the sound still wet.  
“It that my new nickname? Curls? Really?”  
“Yes - James thumbed at his tears and kissed him - curls. You like it, curls?”  
John nodded, closing his eyes.  
“They left me there, in Melbourne. Maybe I wasn’t even born in Melbourne, the fuck should I know. And I studied there. Found a great music teacher. Did I tell you that I can play the piano too? And cello, a bit”  
“God, John. You’re so fucking beautiful”  
John’s faint smile disappeared, and he looked down at his own hands.  
“No, I’m not”  
“Yes you are, curls”  
“Shit, James! Come on! - John jumped up, sitting on the mattress, bare chested and heaving - I’m just three quarters of a man, ok? Fucking look at me!”  
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last days, hm?”  
“How can you call this beautiful? - he screamed pointing to himself - I’m a mess. You don’t know shit, James”  
“Then tell me, John. Come here - James threw one arm across John’s chest, pulling him down - you’re freezing, idiot. Come on”  
John found himself being spooned by a very warm body, and couldn’t help but scooting back agains James' chest.  
“You really want to know?”  
“Told you, curls. Just what you feel comfortable with. Just what you feel you can tell me”  
“It wasn’t an accident. My leg”  
James nodded.  
“Thought so. What happened?”  
John’s eyes were staring at the wall, glassy and unmoving, and he was angry, so angry. Body tense in James’s arms. So, this was the rage he was talking about just the other day. He pulled him closer.  
“I started busking at 18, had just left the institute, and i liked it. Still like it. I love it, actually.”  
“You’re great with that guitar, you know that?”  
James’ hands were on his chest, and he found himself smiling until a scowl turned his lips down.  
“I lived on the street for years - he blurted out - still live like that, sometimes. I rent some place when I can afford it, otherwise I sleep where I can”  
James held him tighter, and John felt all the words the older man wasn’t saying. You’re with me, now. You’re home. You’re alright.  
“Got beaten up, sometimes. Nothing major - he tensed - but those were just kids, James. Just some fucking kids. Couldn’t have been older than twenty. Well dressed, clean shaved. Their shoes were white, but one of them had a pair of gray sneakers. I can still remember that. One of them had a blue and white striped t-shirt and a red wist watch. I think they were bored, they said they wanted the money. Took what I had, got angry when I told them there was nothing left.”  
James kept holding him, kept him there. Kept him warm, and safe, and John went on even if he felt his throat closing.  
“They beat me with a fucking metal rod, broke my ribs, hit my head, and my leg was… - he shook his head, curls flying everywhere - when I woke up I was in a hospital. I had been in a coma for three days, nearly died of septicemia, they said. My leg had gotten infected, those kids had left me there, could never found them. They left me there. And my leg wasn’t…You've been lucky, mr. Silver, they said. A doctor told me that since I was young, only 27, I still had strong body and managed to survive.”  
He laughed, and then there he was again, with tears in his eyes and a sob pleading to be released from his throat. He screamed. He really fucking screamed, blonde neighbor be damned. He screamed, and then he started sobbing, and blubbering, and James was there, holding him, not even trying to make him stop. Letting him vent, and cry, and destroy himself just to be rebuilt all over again, and again, and again with James’ chest against his back, his arms around his shoulders and his words circling in his head when he calmed down and started crying in earnest.  
It’s ok, John. You’re alright. I got you, curls.  
James kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips, his cheeks.  
“Where were you?”  
“Berlin - he coughed - I was in Berlin”  
“You’ll have to tell me about that city, then. Never been there. We might visit it together, hm?”  
John smiled, then sobbed and started crying again.  
“I got you, John. You’ll be alright. It’s ok, sweetheart. It’s ok”  
And, he fucking didn’t know how, or why, but John believed him.


	10. All ends well

If I could ease your mind, calm the storm inside  
Pull your drifting heart back from a cruel and bitter tide  
Show you that tomorrow everything will be just fine  
All in due time

Somewhere down the road your stars will show  
Somewhere down the road you're almost home  
You're almost home

 

If you believe in nothing else  
Just keep believing in yourself  
There will be times of trouble,  
It's gonna hurt like hell  
This much I know, all ends well  
It all ends well  
Alter Bridge - All ends well

James called a cab while John was resting, exhausted by his meltdown. He watched him sleep, with puffy eyes and mouth slightly open, and had to shake him awake when the driver arrived. John blinked, bleary eyed, and frowned.  
“James? What’s going on?”  
“We’re going home - James smiled, ruffling his curls - do you need any help with your clothes?”  
John shook his head, but in the end James had to help him with his shoes and the endless flights of stairs so, when they got back at his place, he ran a warm bath and helped John inside, discarding his own clothes right after.  
“Scoot over, curls - he smiled, testing the water with one hand - your flat was cold, I’m fucking freezing”  
John’s smile was tired and a little hesitant, and he didn’t look at him when he sat in the tub in from of him, letting the warmth drown his chills.  
“I’m sorry - he blurted out - for what happened. My breakdown, or something…I’m not like that, usually. I’m sorry”  
The water sloshed as James got closer, hooking a finger under John’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes.  
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, John. There was a thing Thomas used to say, and I’m going to say to you: know no shame. You get it, curls?”  
John’s mouth fell open, James’ finger still under his chin.  
“It’s beautiful”  
“It is - James kissed the tip of his cold nose, then scooted back on his side of te tub, interwinding his legs with John’s ankle - Max sent me a message, she wanted to know how you were doing”  
John shrugged again, doing what was becoming his trademark move, curls getting wet.  
“We should go to the Walrus tomorrow - he proposed - I could play, you could write, and they could see that we’re still alive”  
“You feel up for it?”  
James’ eyes were serious and a bit worried as he took the shampoo and started washing his cropped hair. John nodded.  
“Yes, I think so”  
Good. Come here”  
He waited for John to come sit against his chest and started washing his hair, smiling when he finally felt him relax.  
“You really should start teaching”  
John hummed, lulled by he warmth, the water and James’ voice.

“Wake up, curls, gotta get to work”  
There was a smile in James’ voice that made John smile too, opening his eyes and shutting them again against the grey light of the morning. The smell of coffee woke his stomach up, and the low growl that followed was welcomed with a throaty laugh by James. He looked up at the older man, half embarrassed half still sleeping.

He was nothing but adorable, that man. Half asleep blue eyes and bed hair, with an embarrassed smile on his lips: James crouched down and kissed him, then brushed a strand of hair behind his ear and kissed him again.  
“Get up, ok?”  
John nodded, still amazed by his new situation. He had a home, a warm bed and someone who loved him: it was more than he had ever had in his whole life. He got up slowly and stretched his back a bit, reached for his prosthetic leg, then decided against it, took his crutch and hobbled to the kitchen and pride be damned. He was rewarded with a gentle smile and a steaming cup of coffee.  
“Mind if I take a look at your CDS?”  
John smiled, face half hidden inside the cup. Oh, coffee. How I love thee.   
“By all means, good sir - he replied - do go on”

He chuckled and sat down, while James muttered something about curly hair and stupid grins, leaving the crutch behind against the back of a chair and looking at James with finally awake eyes. He was handsome, he really was, and emanated calm and protectiveness, but there was something dark about him that intrigued and fascinated him. His anger, maybe or the sheer power that seemed to flow so easily through his veins. John admired the sureness and precision James conveyed in every small movement of his hands, his absolute self control. And the fact that the man he was so carefully observing was grinning like a maniac just because he seemed to have found his collection of Bowie albums.  
“Now - he said, looking at John’s copy of Ziggy Stardust - this is some really good music. Mind if I put it on?”  
Then he turned around, caught him staring and arched a red eyebrow.  
“John?”  
“Uh? - John cleared his throat - sorry. You were saying?”  
James exhaled, a smirk on his lips.  
“Where were you, curls?”  
What could he say? That he was looking at him because he was the best damn thing that ever happened to him? That if he would have known from the beginning that every trial, every horror he suffered would have brought him there, to that precise moment, he would have gladly suffered through them all all over again? That he was a fucking walking miracle?

You know, James? You’re a goddamn miracle. How many possibilities did I have to meet you, hm? How many? I could have decided to busk somewhere else. You could have decided that you felt lazy and work from home. I’m from the other fucking side of the world, and the world itself is so big after all. That blessed rain could have never fallen. How many fucking possibilities, hm?  
And yet here I am, with you. You gave me a home, you gave me warmth and safety. You gave me you. So, where I was, James? Sitting right in front of you, ready to go play my tunes for someone else with this foreign, heartwarming certainty inside that at the end of the day I’ll have someone and somewhere to come back to, looking at you as you rummage through my music collection, smiling like a kid, not even knowing what a fucking miracle you are.  
So, you wanna know where I was, James?

“Here”  
He said. And it was true.


End file.
